


Third Time Lucky - part Two

by MyrJuhl



Series: Third Time Lucky [2]
Category: Ravenous (1999)
Genre: Adult Content, Awkwardness, Cannibalism, Coercion, Deviates From Canon, Family, M/M, Minor Character Death, OOC, Self-Esteem, Smut, Tension, WIP, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 05:49:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13117347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyrJuhl/pseuds/MyrJuhl
Summary: After John Boyd is discharged from military hospital, he moves on. When he finishes his teacher's degree, his plan for the future is moving up north and become a tutor; a career much more palatable to his personal beliefs.





	Third Time Lucky - part Two

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** These events never happened. This fic is for entertainment purposes only, not profit. I, the author, make no claim through this work as to the fictitious characters/ actual lives/ preferences/ activities of the people mentioned herein.

*~.:.~*

As soon as John could be moved from Fort Spencer, Martha took him to a monastery further south where the sisters attended his wounds. When he was fully recovered and able to walk again, he went home to discuss his future with his family.

Arriving at the mansion made John feel a dread that had grown in size ever since he realised he had to have that confrontation, when he was discharged. He did send a letter in advance but never received an answer. Yanking the doorbell, John waited with his turmoil feelings in limbo. He honestly had no idea, if his parents wanted him there. 

A maid responded to the bell and John smiled at her and stated his business, "Good afternoon, I am John Boyd. Are my parents present?" 

The girl look positively baffled, and John imagined she didn't even know that he existed. "Well yes, Mrs Boyd is in. Who shall I tell her you are again?” she asked. 

"John Boyd. Her son," John repeated, and motioned to follow her inside. However, she did the opposite and meant to close the door, while she enquired about his request.

"Excuse me...” John said and pushed the door open. 

"Oh...” the maid was surprised, but then she seemed to realise that she was about to prevent her employer's son entrance. 

"I will wait in the hall," John promised her diplomatically, and went to sit on the bench by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. Honestly, he wasn't expecting anything from this visit. He was fine with cutting the ties, if that was how their relationship was nowadays.

"John?" the surprised tone of his mother’s voice sounded on the staircase, as she came down to greet him. 

“Mother!” John felt overwhelmed by seeing her, and he went straight towards her. She didn't look much older than he remembered, so she must've been very young when she married his father. They embraced and John felt grateful that he was allowed to just do that. Somehow he didn’t sense his father in the house and he relaxed.

"My dear son. Look at you! All grown up. We thought you were killed," Mrs. Boyd said.

John frowned. "I’m sorry mother that you received such shocking news, but I did send you a letter a month ago."

"Oh, but we never got a letter."

 _Neither did I. Ever..._ But John didn’t want to bring up his traumatic past. "Oh – well. Here I am," he said and smiled. 

Slowly, they began walking into the tea room. John held his mother’s arm and the feeling was almost surreal in its normality.

"Your father is not well. He is staying in a sanatorium,” Mrs. Boyd said when she sat down in the chaise long. 

"He is sick?" John carefully asked and chose a chair opposite her. 

"His sanity is trying these days,” was all Mrs. Boyd said, when the maid showed up in that instant.

 _Crazy,_ John thought. That’s what she meant. Well, it didn’t come as a surprise. In John’s book, the man had never acted rationally.

“We’ll have some tea now, Doreen.”

“Yes, Mrs. Boyd.”

The Boyd’s came from Scotland and had always had their afternoon tea religiously complete with cucumber sandwiches, shortcake, and scones. 

Apparently, the staff was always ready to serve the tea because less than ten minutes later, everything was arranged. John’s mind was throwing childhood memories at him, while he listened to his mother and sipped the tea. 

“You will stay for dinner, John?”

“Of course. Thank you,” John said.

The smells and sounds of the house pushed forward a particular strong memory. John almost never had dessert for dinner, when he lived in this house. He was not the one to service food on his plate. Nevertheless, it was always expected of him to finish his portion if he wanted any dessert, which of course he rarely could. Just one of many senseless executions of discipline his father thought was necessary to build his character.

“How is Father? I mean... really?”

His mother sighed and put down a short cake. “He’s not well. In fact, we should probably take this opportunity and discuss your heritage.”

“Really?” John responded taken aback. That had not been his intent. He just wanted to set the record straight, and know if his tuition was still intact should he decide to go back to college.

“Obviously, the house will belong to your brother’s wife and children. They had three boys.”

“Of course,” John said without listening. He didn’t care about the house. As long as his mother was alive, he wouldn’t demand anything from her. “Is he dying?”

“I haven’t seen him a few months. He doesn’t seem to remember me when I visit.”

“Oh...” John was getting a clearer picture now.

“He has been declared incapable of managing his own affairs.”

“Who does... manage your affairs?”

“Well, we thought you were dead, so now Mr. Fenton, our lawyer manages everything.”

John put down his teacup. “Mother – this is all very ...”

“Overwhelming, I know. You were always a sensitive child, John.”

John looked away. She was right. He was. “I’ve been discharged from the army. I was wounded. So I was thinking about going back and finish college in Alabama or maybe elsewhere. That’s actually why I’m here.”

“You’re worried about your tuition?”

“I’m not ‘worried’, Mother. I just wanted things to be clear. If you weren’t able to help out, I would just have to change my plans and find some other ways to...” 

His mother looked sad and John stopped talking. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you a better childhood. John. Truly, I am.”

Her words hit John harder than he thought they would, and tears stung his eyes with the sudden emotion. But it was too late. He’d been through too much to know what to do with her heartfelt apology, so he just cleared his throat and the feeling passed.

“Thank you, Mother,” was all he chose to say.

“I will have Mr. Fenton draw you a cheque of $10,000. It’s is more than enough for your tuition and other cheques will be sent to you of the same amount the next ten years.”

John didn’t know what to say. It was a lot of money. Probably more than he could spend, because he didn’t see himself wasting money living extravagantly.

“Now...” his mother said with a special glint in her eye. “Should you consider marriage... children. The arrangement will be different. Where are you staying?”

“I haven’t...”

“Good. Stay here. Then Mr. Fenton will be able to find you before you go.”

John just nodded. The audience was abruptly over, and he got up and went into the hall. Doreen was already waiting for him.

“You’re luggage is upstairs in your room... sir.”

John wondered if his ‘room’ was his childhood room. He supposed it was. He wondered if his things were still there. But then he hadn’t been in the room since he was ten. Slowly, John ascended the stairs and his feet automatically found the right corridor and the right door.

Turning the handle, John looked into the room and he gasped. His room was exactly the way it had been when he was sent to the academy. What little toys he’d had still sat on the shelves. Mostly they consisted of a few books, a box of painted pewter soldiers, a kaleidoscope, and the spool with two sticks his mother had ordered from an East India catalogue. John remembered that very clearly. He had always been fascinated by the world, wanted to travel, but most of the journeys just stayed in his mind.

The rest of the toys had no significance. John couldn’t remember ever playing with those. Or maybe he wasn’t allowed to, or maybe they had been added since he left home imagining he would have had them as gifts. It just never happened because he never came home again. Deciding he wanted to take these things with him, he went about in the room and picked out the items he didn’t want to leave behind. There also was a rocking horse, but with a smile John decided it was probably best to let it stay here.

“All that money,” John murmured. Why did it feel as if his mother was paying him to keep staying away? Was it her bad conscience for not speaking up when his father messed up his childhood? Would she really think about him once he was out of her sight again? John hadn’t come here to rip open those old wounds, but as welcome as the money was, they also had a bitter taste.

Work wise, John did not have many opportunities. Twenty-three years of age and already he was a war veteran. There truly was only one option and that was finishing his degree and getting a job. At least he wasn’t disabled, maimed, or otherwise marked from the war. 

After securing the toys with his luggage, John sat down on his old bed. He recalled how big it was when he was a boy. He used to hide under the covers and fantasize about monsters and being rescued by a prince on a magnificent horse. At the time, John instinctively knew not to tell anyone about what he wanted the prince to do to him after the rescue. The desires changed as John grew older, and involved a lot of thrilling kisses and close up hugs by strong capable arms and questing hands. 

Falling back, John lay flat and looked into the ceiling. He thought about Ives. The brief moment in the otherwise horrific experience the encounter with the man had been. Had John known that Ives was never going to kill and eat him, it could have saved him much grief. He could have set in much sooner and saved at least Major Knox. Perhaps if Ives was gone at that particular time, then Hart might not have killed poor Cleaves. The Colonel didn’t seem to have the stomach for killing for spoils after all.

John rubbed his face and turned to his side. What Ives really wanted was defiling John and corrupt his body and soul. John didn’t mind the sex – he minded the soul searching which had never been Ives’ business in the first place. On the other hand, John would have died, if he hadn’t agreed on those terms when he realised this. John wasn’t finished being the martyr, and apparently he was allowed a second chance when he survived the bear trap.

The bed was very inviting and he fell asleep. 

A subtle knock on the door woke up John. “Excuse me master, but dinner is served in ten minutes." That was Doreen, who thoughtfully gave him time to change and be presentable. 

John changed into a light linen suit and joined his mother shortly after. 

“John, how nice of you to join us," a man John didn't recognise said. John found a plate set up next to his mother, who sat at the end of the dining table. John didn't say anything and sat down. A butler served them all and Doreen stood by in case she was needed. 

"This is Mr. Fenton, John.” 

"Oh...” was all John had to say. 

“He has drawn you a check,” Mrs. Boyd then added. 

John just nodded before he constructed a quiet, “Thank you." 

"I will need to see your papers – as soon as you re-enlist for college, John." 

“Of course Mr. Fenton," John said and looked at his plate. Discretely, he pushed the meat to the side and began eating the vegetables. His head was full of noise. As much as he had always detested this place as well as trying to do his best to deserve his parents' love, he felt betrayed on his father's behalf. His mother's goal was clearly to keep his father in the asylum and marry Mr. Fenton. John showing up probably couldn't have been more inconvenient. 

There was a minimum of talk during dinner. His mother politely asked about John’s experiences, but she clearly didn't care about his answers, when she kept cutting him off addressing Mr. Fenton instead. 

John didn't mind. He hadn’t expected to be welcomed at all, and as soon as he had the check, he would get out of their hair. 

“Do you have a bank account?” Mr. Fenton asked. 

John shook his head. His soldier’s salary had been paid in cash. 

"I am going to set up an account for you. That way, you will know when to pick up the next cheque.” 

John just looked at him and then his mother. "Excuse me, Mother," he said and got up. 

"The cheque, dear...” Mrs. Boyd said and pushed a piece of paper towards him that John hadn’t noticed had been lying on the table the whole time. John picked it up and went for the door. 

"I will send you a letter with the information you require as soon as I know," he said and went to his room. For the remains of the evening, he sat on his bed and read his children's books. They were torn and worn, and clearly read many many times. John heard another subtle knock on the door. "Come in," he said. 

It was Doreen and she brought him dessert. "I thought you might want this, master," she offered.

John couldn't help scoffing at the irony. The girl looked taken aback and quickly John made a come-hither gesture with his hands.

"Thank you. Please. I would love some.” Her scent was suddenly very prominent, and John thought he should have noticed already when he met her at the door. Now it permeated the entire room. John smiled at her. Unsure, she returned his smile. "Would you like some?" he heard himself ask.

"I probably shouldn't,” Doreen said.

John realised he was luring her into his room, and he quickly stopped himself. “No, you probably shouldn't." 

Doreen left his room in a hurry. Slowly, John got out of bed and went to find the small shaving mirror he carried in his luggage. His eyes seemed intense, but other than that, he didn't look as frazzled as he expected. Still enough to have intimidated her. John could barely wait to get out of there and back to the city. 

The many days he lay in the monastery and recovered from his bear trap injuries, general horrific wounds on top of recovering from the broken leg, he had bouts of vomit accidents. In his opium delirium, he ate the food the sisters gave him. Meat. Lots of beef and his stomach simply wouldn’t tolerate it. When he became weaker, he was only fed soup and he took better to that and got some strength back. John wondered how he was going to survive if he ever got out of the monastery without attacking people simply to get some food into his system.

But he overcame that when a young soldier slithered up to him one night forcing a blowjob on him. The semen John swallowed gave him a kick of vitality, and he realised he’d found a pleasurable way to consume human ‘flesh’ that would do no harm to the giver.

*~.:.~*

John picked a better college to finish his degree and chose the Naval Academy in Annapolis, Maryland. After John finished his degree in 1853, he was asked to remain in Annapolis and teach the new students. The life as a teacher gave John the structure he needed in his life. For years, he lived a quiet uneventful life on campus and didn't spend his money extravagantly. Then the civil war came in 1861, and Mr. Fenton wrote him and advised him strongly to exchange his southern money to English pounds. 

To avoid the chaos that came with the war, John quit his job the year after and wrote to his mother that he planned to go to Scotland and see the place where she and his father grew up. He found a position at the University of Edinburgh and taught students there for a few years. 

The cravings he had came and went. There was never a man who refused a free blowjob when John offered them in a dark alley. The first time out in the open was exhilarating. 

John was in a pub nursing a pint of Guinness. A man kept sending him looks and John realised what he wanted. John had been thinking about it increasingly lately and made a decision. Drinking the last heeltap, John got up and sent the man a meaningful glance before he left the establishment.

Outside, he walked slowly and when the man’s footsteps were heard, John went into a nearby alley. As soon as the man – a worker – came up to him, he manhandled John onto his knees.

“Fancy dressed up chiel loch yerself whorin' himself it tae law life scum, eh?”

John didn’t say anything. He expected that kind of talking, and was secretly turned on by it. Quickly, he opened the man’s trousers and drew out his cock. Hard and wet already, the man happened not to be particularly picky about the mouth he was going to use when it came down to it. The man grabbed John’s face and plunged himself into his mouth. John grabbed his hips to find purchase but otherwise let him do what he wanted. Once he’d swallowed his cum with a greed that surprised himself, he looked up at his victim’s eyes. His cock was still in his mouth and the man looked positively terrified. Slowly, John let the cock slip out of his mouth and the man literally ran from the alley. 

John couldn’t help laughing as he sank down on the grimy cob stones beneath him. Wiping his mouth, he felt the virility thrum in his veins and knew he could be addicted to the easy access. In moments like that, he couldn’t help thinking about Ives. But especially how he never crossed the line of murdering for his pleasure. This would do. It was in fact more than enough.

End of part Two


End file.
